


In Love With Your Fingertips

by j_louise



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Whump, physical affection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_louise/pseuds/j_louise
Summary: A collection of short works, each featuring a different type of physical contact between The Doctor and Rose.Inspired by the physical affection prompts by @promptingyou on tumblr.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Pats On The Head

Rose tapped her toes to the sound of brushes against a cymbal, as the swooping sound of a saxophone stretched a grin across her face. She could feel her curls bounce around her shoulders and it made her smile even wider, feeling as if she fit right in. The Doctor, currently sitting next to her, was in the same old leather jacket and dark trousers as always. But not her, no, she was dressed up to the nines - a floral tea dress, modest heels, and a swipe of red lipstick to top it all off. Part of the excitement for her was getting dressed up in era-appropriate clothing - and this was one of her favourite ever looks. 

Ever since the revelation that the Doctor could, in fact, dance they had been making regular trips back in time to listen - and dance - to swing music, frequenting jazz clubs of the ’30s and ’40s. So that’s where they were, April 1939 in Harlem, New York, listening to a local swing group play to a small but crowded club. The Doctor always took them to see local musicians rather than the big players - she supposed it was his equivalent of going off the beaten track and “seeing the real city”. Rose didn’t care who they saw, she adored the music and it’s toe-tapping frivolity. 

They’d just danced together for the last couple of songs - her Lindy Hop was getting loads better, she thought - and had now picked their way through the crowd to sit at a table and catch their breath. Her breathing was slowing slightly but the electric atmosphere that surrounded her, the music that moved through her, kept her adrenaline buzzing. She couldn’t take her eyes off the musicians - and the dancers that swerved and circled in front of them. The sound of voices mixed with the music, so much life crammed into the tiniest space. She loved it. 

As her eyes took in the room, she saw the Doctor in her peripheral vision as he leaned forwards to speak to her. It was loud in the room, so she leaned in closer to hear him. His breath on her cheek sent shivers down her spine. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

“Yeah,” she shouted back, belatedly realising just how dry her mouth was. 

“What do you fancy?” 

“Dunno,” she grinned. “Something fruity.” 

“Coming up,” the Doctor stood up, and as he did so she felt his hand come up and pat her head lightly. “Now, don’t wander off while I’m gone,” he ordered

“I’m not a dog!” she laughed, swatting him on the arm. 

“No, you’re right. They can follow instructions.” he shot her a grin, looking pleased with himself, and darted off towards the bar before she could retaliate. 

She laughed to herself, rolling her eyes before focusing them on the band again. The Doctor was a wonder. She could never seem to figure him out. One second they were dancing together, close as anything, and the next he was making sarcastic remarks. She knew they were jokes, but she also knew they were designed to keep her at arm's length. She wished he wouldn’t do that, but wasn’t sure how to get him to stop. Slowly but surely, she thought. He had opened up more over the time they’d spent together, relaxed around her. Hell, the fact they were even here was proof of that, she thought. She watched the couples spin around the dancefloor in front of her and wondered if that’s what she and the Doctor looked like when they danced together. Smiling widely, sweating, focused on nothing but each other. 

Suddenly, a bright pinkish-red drink slid into view in front of her, the Doctor retaking his seat next to her and interrupting her train of thought. Catching his eye, the Doctor held his glass over the table by way of a toast, and Rose picked up her glass and clinked them together, the sound of it imperceptible beneath the sound of the music. As she took a sip of her drink - sweet, sharp, and vaguely alcoholic - she wondered what they were toasting. This, she hoped. Them. 

‘To us’ Rose thought, as she placed her drink back on the table and sent him a smile. ‘To us.’


	2. Interlocking Pinkies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a trauma response and Rose isn't sure how to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one where I'm not entirely sure if it makes sense, so do let me know. I hope you enjoy! Sorry for my love of nine!whump but here we are.

Rose wasn’t sure she had ever seen the Doctor look quite so fragile as he did at this moment. They were watching as a few remaining survivors were patched up and helped into a transport ship - an intergalactic ambulance of sorts. This had been one of the rare occasions that, no matter how hard they tried, they were unable to save everyone. They weren’t even able to save most. Rose knew that would hit the Doctor hard - hell, it hit her hard - but the way it had happened was what was making her truly concerned about his reaction.

They had watched as this civilisation was burnt to the ground through violence and warfare. It had burnt in the truest sense - heat radiating, turning the sky orange and choking the atmosphere with acrid, near-black smoke. It had been loud. Banging, screaming, clanging, ripping. Busy and deafening. And then quiet. All too quiet, all too quick. She had been terrified. They had managed to transport the few remaining survivors away and organise transport for them to head somewhere safe and recuperate. Now, she and the Doctor stood side by side, watching them file onto the ship, limping, being carried, looking as run down as anyone she had ever seen. It felt like she could barely breathe looking at them.

She’d seen the Doctor’s face too, and that added so much weight to her heart. He’d looked stricken for a moment, as if the fire was barrelling towards him and there was nothing he could do about it. Then, his face had fallen blank and he remained very, very still as they stood and watched the patients boarding the ship. No tears, no movement, she could barely see him breathing. It was as though he was either on the brink of some sort of emotional outburst, or he had completely checked out. Not knowing what was going on in his head was scaring Rose. He was scaring her.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’d reacted in this particular manner. When he had taken her to see the death of the Earth, just after they had first met, he told her that his planet had burned in warfare. It had spilled out of him, as though he couldn’t keep it in any longer, as if the last few hours had been spent trying to tell her what he’d been through. In retrospect, she supposed they probably had been. She knew how deep he carried that loss with him, and the guilt that came along with it. She knew he spent all his energy trying to save people, trying to make sure not one more person was lost, to make up for the guilt he felt at being the only survivor of his war. And this time, he had only been able to save but a few. The rest had died, been wiped out by fire and cruelty. She knew that, in those moments, he was back on his home planet, feeling hopeless and afraid.

She had seen him struggle with his feelings about the war before, but not like this. Nothing like this. The closest thing she could liken it to was shellshock - something they’d learned about in History class at school. The way he stood stock still, almost paralysed, and his eyes glazed over - not with tears but with distance. Normally, she would grab his hand or wrap him in a tight hug, squeezing him, but she was worried that if she did that now she would cause him to topple over whatever precipice he seemed to be on within his mind. But she knew he responded well to physical touch, she had learned that much. It seemed to provide him with a form of comfort, certainly far more than words seemed to be able to. She just needed to find the right way to approach it now. Carefully, gently, as though approaching a doe in a meadow, she raised the hand nearest to him and ever so lightly slid her pinkie finger around his so that they interlocked.

As she did so, the Doctor didn’t quite jump, but he did take a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Rose stayed still, every nerve ending trained on him, waiting for his reaction and hoping she’d done the right thing, made the right move. She kept her eyes trained on the survivors in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor blink rapidly. She was unsure if he was clearing tears from his eyes or the glaze that had lain over them. Then, finally, she felt his pinkie tighten around hers just slightly, holding on to her.

Thank _God._

Rose released a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and her eyes pricked slightly with unshed tears. There he was. He was okay. They were both going to be okay.


	3. Smiling Into A Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a bit of free love to loosen these two up. Maybe I got a bit carried away with the premise rather than the actual physical affection but I rather like how it turned out anyway. Let me know what you think!

Sometimes, Rose missed Mickey like crazy. At least he was reliable. She knew what to expect with Mickey. He would be there, ready to watch some telly or chat or anything really, as long as they were together. She missed his comforting reliability because life had become less than reliable since she met the Doctor - in more ways than one. 

Okay, so she knew there were some things lacking in her relationship with Mickey too. Excitement. Passion. All of that stuff that got her heart pumping and her fingertips buzzing. That, she got all of and more onboard the TARDIS. Obviously, with all of the running around and exploring planets and escaping death. That definitely got her heart beating like mad. But it had also started beating like mad in the TARDIS console room, or eating chips, or basically any time the Doctor was around. She was wondering whether it was possible to wear your heart out by the age of thirty-five from overuse. She would have asked the Doctor, only then she’d have to talk about the fact that this was actually a thing that was happening and she wasn’t quite sure she was at that point yet. 

It wasn’t as if nothing had ever happened between them, as if their entire relationship was completely platonic, but it also wasn’t exactly clear what they were. The tension between them had built and built for months through hand-holding and prolonged eye contact and the like until it felt like Rose couldn’t breathe. Then, all of a sudden, the tension broke. They had just escaped death once again, an extremely close call, and it was as if a magnet brought them both together and they were kissing. An intense kiss, clutching at each other as a fever built inside them, running off adrenaline and exhilaration. Then, it had never been mentioned again. It had even happened a couple of times since then but both times it was, again, in the heat of the moment. Still never mentioned. And that was why she missed Mickey. 

Mickey would have sat her down almost straight away and asked her what they were. In fact, that’s exactly what he had done, and she appreciated his upfront communication skills because she had done. Unfortunately, it seemed like the Doctor didn’t either when it came to this sort of thing. So, between them, they were getting nowhere. Or, thought Rose, maybe it’s just different for Time Lords. Maybe they felt less pressure to define their relationships and what they meant to each other. Maybe they just...let it flow. You know, hippie-goes-to-Woodstock style. Only with less peace and love and more insulting other species. 

Basically, she didn’t have a clue. 

The more she thought about it, the more she thought she might be able to get on board with the going-with-the-flow thing. Yeah, she was the girl that had left home to go travelling and got dressed up in eccentric outfits - she basically had the 60’s college dropout thing down to perfection. It was this line of thinking that led her to prod the Doctor with her foot as she lay on a sofa in the library, with her head on the armrest and her other foot lay on his lap. The Doctor looked up from his book and raised his eyebrow at her.

“You fancy going Woodstock?” she asked. It baffled her that things like that came out of her mouth so easily now, the same way she used to ask Mum if she fancied getting a Chinese in for dinner. 

“Woodstock? As in the festival?” he clarified. 

Rose gave him a nod. 

“Oh, Rose, no, no, no.” he shook his head, placing his book down on the table next to him and swinging her feet off his lap and onto the floor. “You want a festival, you want the Isle of Wight Festival, 1969.” 

“Really?” Rose felt sceptical. The Isle of Wight was a festival that ran every summer in her own time, and something she’d never been particularly interested in attending. Not that she would have had the money to be fair, but hypothetically. 

“Yeah,” the Doctor enthused. “Bob Dylan. The Who. Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.”

Rose let out a snort at that one. 

The Doctor continued; “It’s less displaced sleepers getting run over by combine harvesters and more chance sightings of George Harrison. But otherwise, you know, same basic principle.” 

Rose nodded hastily, eyes widening. “Okay, yeah, you’ve convinced me. Isle of Wight it is.” 

“Right,” the Doctor said, standing up. “You go and get your glad rags on, and I’ll get the TARDIS going. Just come and find me in the control room when you’re ready.” 

“Gotcha” Rose agreed and set off towards the wardrobe. 

Wracking her brains, and the rails in front of her, she tried to remember the photos of the musicians she’d seen on the front of her Mum’s records. There was one she seemed to remember of a long dress made of a sheer fabric. It seemed to defy gravity as the woman on the record cover danced, it’s draping making her look like some sort of Greek Goddess. Rose rifled through the rails until she found something that she thought might work. It was a dress of light material, perfect for the warm weather, and a deep purple colour. She felt like something between a fairy and witch when she put it on which, from what she knew, was perfect for the late ’60s. Pulling on some black leather boots in case of mud, and letting her hair down to frame her face, she headed out, eager to get on with their adventure. 

She could hear the sound of a swooping guitar solo drifting down the corridors from the console room. It looked like the Doctor was getting in the mood for their festival too, in his own way. The music resonated around the room as she emerged into it and she had to raise her voice slightly to make sure she was heard. 

“All ready!” she proclaimed. 

The Doctor spun round to face her from where he was standing at the control panel and immediately froze. He blinked at her owlishly for a moment then broke into a blinding grin. 

“You look beautiful.” 

Rose felt her cheeks flush warmly. He’d said that to her once before, on their second trip together. Only then, he’d sounded almost shocked. This time he - well, actually he was striding towards her, still looking like he’d been handed the world on a string. Before she quite knew what was happening, the Doctor was placing his hands on her waist and placing a soft kiss onto her lips. 

To say she was shocked was an understatement. This was the first time they’d kissed where they weren’t filled with a mind-muddling amount of adrenaline. This was just softness and togetherness and happiness. 

The kiss didn’t last long. Just a soft pressing of lips, and then the Doctor pulled back to look at her, his eyes warm. Rose looked back for a moment, before reaching up to the back of his head and pulling him back in. His lips landed on hers and, as they kissed, she couldn’t help but smile against them. If this was going with the flow then she was definitely on board. When she couldn’t hold back her smile enough to keep kissing, she pulled away, releasing a small breathless laugh. 

“Right, you. Are we off?” he asked her, a soft smile growing on his face too.

The Doctor pecked her lips once more, sending tingles down her spine, before striding over to the control panel and piloting them to the Isle of Wight, 1969. Well, hopefully. If he got it right this time. As the TARDIS warped its way through the time vortex, Rose barely noticed they were on the move. She was barely aware that she was travelling through time and space because all she could do was look at the Doctor and think how lucky she was. 

With a final pull of a lever, the TARDIS came to a standstill and the Doctor was gesturing at the door. 

“If you’d like to do the honours.” he invited her. 

She headed over to the door, the Doctor on her heels, and pulled it open, peering out. 

The first thing she noticed was the smell of bonfire smoke. The next was the sound of voices, chattering. Then more distant, the sound of music and cheers. She stared around at the colourful array of people that swarmed in front of her as she stepped out of the TARDIS. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a couple sitting in front of their tent and kissing in a way that somehow seemed both passionate and tender. Rose couldn’t help but smirk slightly. Maybe this trip would be exactly what they needed.


End file.
